Sir Hugh Corbett 11 - The Demon Archer

Prologue

    Ashdown Forest , or so they said, was as old as the island itself. The chroniclers, those who prided themselves on this sort of knowledge, maintained that dragons once lived there while the great giants, Gog and Magog, had set up home among its dark oak groves. These ogres had celebrated their bloody feasts, eating the flesh and grinding the bones of their victims. All manner of creatures were supposed to lurk in its marshy, tangled depths. The gossips talked of the woadman, a fearsome, shaggy-haired giant, with one red eye and hooked teeth, who prowled the trees at night looking for prey.
    The outlaw, the wolfs-head known as the ‘Owl-man’, ignored such rumours. True, Ashdown Forest could be a lonely, gloomy place but it teemed with life: the badger dug his sett; the foxes had their lairs; hawk and kestrel nested with crow and rook in the branches above; rabbits and hares loped across the moss-strewn glades. Deer, both the fallow and the roe, flitted like golden ghosts through the green darkness. Above all, it was owned by Lord Henry Fitzalan and the Owlman’s hate and fear were reserved for him. The Owlman took his name, not so much because of the way he dressed, in dark lincoln green, thick leather boots and tarred leathery hood, but because of his silence: the way he could flit through the trees and make his mark, irritate and vex Lord Henry whenever he so wished.
    At dawn on the feast of St Matthew 1303, the Owlman had left his lair to practise great mischief against his enemy. He had reached the edge of a clearing and stared across at the lonely church of St Oswald ’s-in-the-Trees. Brother Cosmas was sitting outside on a bench, a tankard in his hand. The Owlman studied him fondly from the shelter of the trees. He dare not approach this fiery Franciscan, a man who spared neither himself nor his parishioners. A preacher who could conjure up visions of hell and quote copiously from the Book of Revelations, about the three unclean spirits which sprang out of the mouth of the Great Dragon.
    Behind the church loomed the charnel or ossuary house. The Owlman watched the smoke rising from this. So it was true what the forest people said, those parishioners of Brother Cosmas, that he had decided to tidy up the cemetery, digging up old bones, placing them in the charnel house while removing others to be consumed by fire. The church, despite its deserted appearance, was a busy place; it served the woodcutters, charcoal-burners, verderers, poachers, aye, even outlaws who lived in the forest depths.
    The Owlman studied the front door of the church; above it the great carved Doom depicted Death surprising a king, his queen, noblemen and bishops. Underneath were the words the Owlman knew well:

    As you are, so once were we,
    As we are, so shall ye be.

    The Owlman grinned, a salutary warning! It was a pity Lord Henry Fitzalan did not heed it. A hard manor lord, Fitzalan enforced the forest laws and demanded his due at all seasons. Lord Henry would not even ignore a crime as lowly as the theft of a farthing. The great lord didn’t come here. Like all the owners of the soil, he had his own private chapel or, when it so suited, he’d visit those high-born ladies under their prioress the Lady Madeleine, she who carried her head as if it was as precious and as sacred as the relic of St Hawisia, of which she and her priory were so proud.
    The Owlman paused to check the arrows in his quiver. Unseen by the friar, this mysterious outlaw of Ashdown then knelt and crossed himself , quickly reciting his favourite prayer.

    ‘Christ beside me.
    Christ behind me.
    Christ on my right,
    Christ on my left.’

    Afterwards a short aspiration to St Christopher. The Owlman pulled down his jerkin and took out the silver cast medal which hung from a piece of twine. He stared at the saint, the Infant Christ on his shoulder. They said that if you looked on St Christopher, just after dawn, then you would not die violently that day. The Owlman would need all the help and protection this saint could give him. Lord Henry, or so the gossips said, had organised a great hunt down near Savernake Dell. He’d fenced off an enclosure for his French visitors, lords and clerks from across the Narrow Seas , to kill the deer which his foresters and verderers drove into it. The Owlman was determined to be present. He wanted to do so much mischief, create so much havoc, that Lord Henry and his guests would never forget this day’s hunting.
    The